


the minor fall (the major lift)

by smilebackwards



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Gen, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-07 07:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12228699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: Matt learned to play piano in the orphanage. He wasn’t taught.





	the minor fall (the major lift)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whitchry9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/gifts).



Matt wakes up surrounded by stone. There’s no dust in the air; he’s not under rubble.

There’s a bed beneath him. A worn quilt under his fingertips. The slow rock of water in a basin on a table beside his head, recently filled. Somewhere distant a piano is playing. Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

Matt learned to play in the orphanage. He wasn’t taught.

The sisters discussed it where they thought he couldn’t hear. “He won’t be able to read the music,” Sister Agatha said, habit swishing as she shook her head. “Poor child.”

“He could join the choir,” Sister Catherine offered. “He’ll be able to follow along with the others.”

Matt didn’t want to be trouble—more trouble—but he wanted to play the piano. He could hear the other kids at lessons sometimes, stumbling through Chopsticks and Für Elise. 

“Good ear,” Sister Agatha would praise when a student paused after a missed a note, bouncing off a C instead of D, close and yet discordant. 

Matt tucked the right sounds away in his memory. He wouldn’t be able to sight read but he could learn to play by heart. Matt’s father used to say he had a mind like a steel trap, usually sounding a little rueful.

At night, Matt snuck out to the music room and dodged around the harp and music stands to the old upright in the corner. The keys were smooth and cool under his fingers, perfectly spaced. He pressed each one softly, A to G up seven octaves, and listened for the notes, matching them to his memory of the songs. 

Matt learned to play everything light and slow, _pianissimo_ , pressing the keys so softly they barely made a sound, the impact of the hammer gentle as a kiss. 

Pachelbel’s Canon fades away. There’s a scuffing outside in the hallway, footfalls and the creak of a door.

Matt wonders what it means that he’s here. It’s not a hospital. He remembers the clank of the elevator as Jessica, Luke and Danny went back up to surface level, the taste of blood and stale water, how Elektra didn’t want to stop. 

Every bone in Matt’s body aches. Cloth bandages are wrapped around his torso. It hurts to breathe.

There’s a knock on the door, perfunctory, before it opens. Someone wearing orthopedic shoes enters. “I’m Sister Theresa,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

Matt's life has come full circle. “I heard someone playing piano.” 

“Yes,” Sister Theresa says. “If you’re feeling up to it, we could visit the music room.”

Matt feels like he was hit by a truck, but that’s never stopped him before. He levers himself out of bed and tucks a hand into Sister Theresa’s guiding elbow. They turn right twice and Sister Theresa opens a door. “The piano is straight ahead.”

Matt steps forward and puts a hand on the top of the piano. It’s an upright like they had at the orphanage, not a fancy grand. Matt presses a key to hear the clear sound of E natural, finds F-sharp and B-flat, cornerstone Middle C.

“Do you play?” Sister Theresa asks.

Matt has four broken ribs and bruises over 70% of his body but his hands are fine. Split knuckles are par for the course by now. He centers himself on the bench. 

Matt puts a foot on the damper pedal and stretches his fingers to the opening chords of Pachelbel's Canon in D. 

“A little,” he says, holding the first note.


End file.
